Sunlight Fades
by QueenPersephoneofHades
Summary: Our lives are a collection of moments. Even if we don't realize it at the time, the most insignificant turn out to be the ones we cherish the most. Tumblr 30 Days of Writing Challenge. Henry X Abigail
1. Beginning

**A/N: I got sucked into the fandom, what can I say?**

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><p>The exhaustion weighs heavy on him, visible to all who bother to see it.<p>

He enjoys his work – saving lives and studying the human body is beneficial to both parties, after all – but the newest flood of patients from the battlefield and refugees from the camps has left him completely swamped, taking him much too far out of his comfort zone by surrounding him with hysterical patients and worried family members.

He loves people – he really does – he just doesn't like them bothering him all at the same time.

The latest survivor – a man with half of his left completely missing and losing blood at a tremendous rate, half-consciously murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like the name 'Rebecca' – he personally sees loaded into the back of a truck, ensuring that he will be taken to a far better equipped field hospital than this one.

As it drives off, he sighs silently and takes off his helmet, wiping absent-mindedly at the sweat that had been drying on it, looking at the hum of activity around him, a bit reluctant to dive back in yet.

It's the middle of the night – or rather, the beginning of the morning; it has to be past midnight by now – but everyone is still milling about in a panicked rush, not stopping to rest until they are on the verge of unconsciousness.

The war is practically over – though nobody knows it, V-E Day is only a week and a half away and most of the camps have been liberated now – but the death throes of the Third Reich have left far more casualties behind than should be allowed.

A new batch of survivors from one of the camps has just come in, so he takes a breath, blinking slightly to will the heavy feeling from his limbs, and walks towards where he'd heard they were taken, not bothering to put the helmet back on. It was too tight anyway; a distraction from his work.

He's approaching the refugees as quickly as his fatigued limbs will carry him when he catches a glimpse of _her._

A young woman, perhaps in her early to mid-twenties, with golden hair that shines even in the muted lights of the street. She is wrapped in a long brown coat to ward off the brisk cold, but she seems more concerned with the baby in her arms than the chill. She is smiling down at the child kindly, lips curved upward into a friendly smile that proved far more than capable of capturing a man's heart.

He freezes mid-step, practically awestruck at her simple beauty. She wears no make-up, of course – no woman has the time or care to apply it nowadays – but just the sight of her, from at least twenty feet away is enough to nearly make him step back.

He's not a people person – never really was one, but it's only gotten worse since he found out about _it _– so it should come as no surprise that he has no real words to express exactly how it is he feels at the moment she looks up and sees him, smile still in place on her face.

She looks a bit surprised, but doesn't seem bothered by his (actually rather rude) stare. "Are you a doctor?" she asks, turning to face him fully and unknowingly making it that much harder for him to breathe.

He blinks at the action, stunned, but luckily a part of his brain that isn't a complete idiot kicks in and makes him walk forward to meet her as she holds up the child in her arms for his inspection.

"This child was just recovered from one of the camps; he seems to be in perfect health, miraculously!" she says, utterly overjoyed by the news if her grin is anything to go by. She holds the baby out for him to take, which he does mutely, still unable to tear his gaze from her for a moment.

Somehow, he manages to make himself focus enough to look down at the tiny bundle in his arms. The child stares up at him curiously, wiggling its tiny arms and making quiet squeaks of protest against the loud noises all around him. His right arm bears a string of numbers upon it, tattooed in dark ink – and he wishes more than anything that he could take the mark away, but unfortunately, tattoo removal surgery wouldn't come about for nearly a century – but aside from that, he is perfectly alright. No bruises or scratches that need tending, no breaks that need setting. It is miraculous indeed – the odds of the child getting out of the camp with no injuries whatsoever are at least a thousand to one – but the world seems determined to prove him wrong today.

His eyes trail upward back to the young woman, who beams at him proudly, as if it is her own son he now holds – _and for a moment, his mind shudders forcefully at the thought that she is taken, married and off-limits according to some other man _– but before he can begin making excuses to leave her presence, she says, "He'll be alright, won't he? I found him with another group of refugees, but none of them knew who his mother was."

His brain is able to kick-start itself into action at those words (inwardly he cheers in joy at the lack of attachment) "He should be just fine. I can't see any signs of breaks or sprains, and he and all of the other children are going to be taken to the hospital on the next trip," he assures her, managing his usual distant half-smile.

She grins at him widely, making his heart skip a beat. "Oh, thank God! I didn't know what I would do if I couldn't find his mother!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her heart. She lifts her hands – _inwardly his thoughts scatter a bit in panic _– but she only slides them under his so that she can take back the baby she had dutifully given him.

He hands the child over without complaint, though when she steps back he is tempted to step forward, savoring the warmth of her skin, but he squashes the urge quickly and moves away slightly, lest his body move of its own accord.

"Thank you, doctor!" she says sincerely, eyes sparkling happily.

His mouth is as dry as the Sahara, but he manages a nod of acknowledgement.

She starts turning away, most likely in search of a competent person who can actually manage a conversation – or perhaps someone who knows when the children will be carted off to the safer areas – but his mind suddenly starts working properly again and he calls, "Ah, miss!"

She spins back, crystal blue eyes a bit wide – she hadn't expected to speak with him anymore, apparently – and for a moment they stand there in silence, one expectant and the other desperately searching for something to say.

Finally – because for some reason his brain just _cannot work properly _– he settles on asking, "What's your name?"

She blinks for a moment, obviously not expecting such a question, before smiling once more. "Abigail," she answers.

_Abigail. She who gives joy._

The name suited her.

"And what's yours, doctor?" she asks, throwing him for a loop – as scattered as his thoughts are, he'd forgotten how abrupt his question was when he had not introduced himself first.

"Morgan," he answers, making sure he gives a friendly smile, "Henry Morgan, ma'am."

"Henry," she says, and for a moment he swears he hears a song from an angelic choir.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Morgan."

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed! I'll see you all tomorrow!  
><strong>**~Persephone**


	2. Accusation

**A/N: I know it might seem like I'm posting two chapters in one day, but where I am it's been a day since I posted, so...  
><strong>

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><p>"You can't die."<p>

The accusation is a familiar one, having come several times before – too many times for him to keep track – but for the first time since the early days, he could feel anxiety grip his limbs in a tight vise as crystal blue eyes met his dark brown evenly, blank of all emotion other than curiosity.

"Excuse me?" he somehow manages to ask, making his tone incredulous enough to believably pass as a real reaction to such a ridiculous statement, his face a mask of polite befuddlement as his thoughts spiraled with dread.

She doesn't appear bothered by his ruse; instead, she simply holds up a fragile-looking piece of paper he hadn't noticed before – he'd been too distracted by the way her hair lit up like a halo under the hospital lights – and he stares at it with a raised eyebrow.

It's a lovely picture – the proud unveiling of the completed raising of the statue of Horatio Nelson in Trafalgar Square in London – but, visible at just the edge of this particular shot, is himself, looking not a day younger than he is now, smiling fondly at a small team of ecstatic workmen who had aided in the statue's construction.

He didn't have to turn the picture over to know the date, but he does anyway – November 15th, 1843.

102 years ago, or just about.

He hadn't exactly pictured being found out like this, though in hindsight he should have with the invention of the camera. A part of him wants to question her on where she got this picture, how she got it, but in the end it doesn't matter; she knows something is very, very wrong now.

Inwardly he shied away from saying anything resembling the truth to this girl – this lovely, talented, kind-hearted girl, whom he already adores after only a few short months together – but his face remained impassive, refusing to show his inner turmoil.

"Oh, this?" he says, allowing himself to smile winningly, "This is a photograph of my great-grandfather; however did you find it?"

"Henry," she says flatly, clearly unamused even as he suppresses a flinch, "Please do not lie to me."

It's the tone of her voice that really gets to him – despite trying to remain steady, there's the slightest hint of disappointment, of dismay at his obvious excuse – and he looks at her for a long moment, resisting the urge to shift awkwardly on his feet at her unimpressed not-glare.

Finally, he sighs heavily in defeat and shakes his head.

"It's a long story."

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><p><strong>AN: I think I forgot to mention that most of these one-shots are set in a random order unless stated by me; they happen at random, really. However, this chapter and the next _are _connected. You have been warned.  
><strong>**~Persephone**


	3. Restless

**A/N: Quick reminder that this chapter is connected to the last one! You have been warned!**

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><p>He's can't help being jumpy.<p>

Jumping the gun and moving around often is a habit that he doubts will ever fade away completely, no matter how much time passes. The risk of discovery has always been an all too real danger.

He has no desire to repeat what happened last time; he still has nightmares of those madmen calling themselves doctors cutting into his flesh in the name of science.

He doubts he will ever get over this restless behavior, but for once he fights the urge to run, to escape, as he tells his story to Abigail. (_Distantly, he's glad they are in one of the rare, unfrequented corners of the hospital, making this as private as he could hope for._)

She's silent through most of his tale, eyes slowly widening fractionally when he explains a few of the incidents discovery of his gift (_curse_) has led to before.

He begs her silence on the matter, promising to leave her and the baby (Abe is what she'd affectionately named him) alone, that he will be on the first ship to France or America that he can find and that she'll never have to worry about him coming near them again.

He expects her to flee, or perhaps for her to start questioning his sanity (_immortality? __**Really?**_), call him a madman (_and if she did, he might finally be able to see if it is actually possible to die of heartbreak_).

What he doesn't expect is a harsh slap to the face.

His head jerks to the side, mouth falling open even as his skin stings and his ears ring loudly. His eyes find hers, wide dark brown meeting hard crystal blue that is shining a lot more than it should.

"Do you really think I would do something like that?" she asks lowly, voice low and shaking with emotion – he can't tell if it's rage or pain at this point – as she takes a step forward.

He braces himself for another slap, but she just grabs him by his coat and shakes him lightly. "Do you really think so lowly of me?! I would _never _give up someone's – _anyone's _– secret! _Especially _if they got hurt because of it! What kind of awful human being do you take me for?!" she cries, voice somehow going higher despite still being quiet enough to not be noticed unless someone were to pass directly by.

He's frozen, staring at her beautiful features which are only a foot away from his, twisted with anger and terrible sadness as tears finally start making their way down her cheeks as she desperately tries to keep her sobs as silent as possible.

She begins to take a step back, most likely to continue berating him for his typical male stupidity, but he doesn't let her; his arms slip around her and nearly crush her against him, tears of his own filling his eyes (_she's not afraid, she's not running, __**she's still here**_).

"I'm sorry," his voice rasps like sandpaper as a wave of relief mixed with hysterical happiness overtakes him, "_I'm sorry_. I didn't really think- I never thought you'd tell, of course I don't expect you to, it's just- every other person who figured it out-"

"Did all of those terrible things to you!" she finished for him, gasping as if the reality of the situation has finally hit her – she's in some forgotten corner of a hospital with an immortal hundred-something man hugging her and having an emotional breakdown.

She's definitely crying now, burying her face into his shoulder, creating a damp spot that is being dutifully ignored by them both.

"Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry! It must have been awful!" she sobs.

(_And even though they're both crying and emotional and upset, he'll look back on this memory fondly as the day he finally stopped running away from life._)

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the overload of angst. I try to write fluff and I fail.  
><strong>**~Persephone**


	4. Snowflake

The weather has been dreary and depressing for days.

The air is freezing cold, causing white fog to drift out of his mouth with every exhale. The sky is grey and dismal; the ground covered in slush and frighteningly chilled water that enjoys finding new ways to seep into his shoes and cutting off the feeling in his toes. The trees lining the park are black and dingy, appearing like jagged black skeletons without their usual layer of thick leaves. The buildings throughout the city look dark and foreboding against the lighter colors in both sky and earth.

It all appears utterly cheerless…

… until Abe starts giggling when a snowflake lands on his nose, and Abigail's bell-like laughter quickly follows as she swipes a bit of the white powder off of her hair and sprinkles some of it onto the toddler, who practically shrieks with delight as the cold substance hits his bare skin.

And Henry can't help but think, with the two people he loves most in the world by his side, even this dark landscape can become a beautiful place.

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><p><strong>I finally succeeded in writing fluff of some sort. Please enjoy.<br>****~Persephone**


	5. Haze

**A/N: More angst for all your Forever-related angst needs. Enjoy!**

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><p>The shroud of darkness that is death wrapping around him is abruptly yanked away, only to be replaced by a string of incoherent memories – <em>the old townhouse his father built, his mother's face, his childhood hometown, the ship where everything started to go wrong<em> – but he has no time to try and make sense of it as he is suddenly thrown from the haze of half-forgotten memory into crushing weight of water all around him, his lungs burning and limbs flailing uselessly in shock.

He manages to regain control of his startled new body and heads upward as he has become used to doing – it has become pure instinct by now – and his head breaks the surface, allowing him to gasp in a lungful of much-needed air.

His eyes – new eyes, sensitive to the light but quick to adapt – fasten onto the shoreline; all light grey rocks and dark mud and bits of garbage.

He'd awoken in the Thames.

He swims for the bank, shivering so hard it takes him longer than it usually would because of the cool temperature of the water.

It's been a while since he died. He hadn't done that since he met-

"HENRY!"

The scream is shrill and clearly distressed.

He jerks slightly and looks up in bewilderment as he reaches the shore to see Abigail sprinting barefoot across the stones, disheveled golden hair flying behind her, gripping a blanket in one hand and wearing a dark red stained nightgown, with a frightened looking Abe trailing after her as fast his much shorter legs will carry him.

He manages to climb out of the water despite the shaking in his legs, barely managing to gain his balance before he nearly loses it when the woman he loves barrels into him, locking her arms around his neck and squeezing with all her might, nearly dropping the blanket she'd brought for him.

"Henry!" she gasps, shaking even more than he is, "Oh, Henry! When you said you'd come back I didn't-! I mean, it's one thing to hear about it but- I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Daddy!" wails Abe, finally catching up to his adopted parents and latching onto his father's leg. "Daddy, don't disappear again! Mommy was scared! _I _was scared! Don't do it again!"

Despite the uncomfortable breeze and the cool night air and the hard ground, he kneels down to wrap one arm around both wife and son.

"Sorry, Abe," he sighs lowly, squeezing them both. "Daddy didn't mean to scare you."

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><p><strong>AN: I'll try harder to make these less angsty, okay?  
><strong>**~Persephone**


	6. Flame

The candles were a nice touch, he silently congratulated himself. The light of the tiny flames cast the entire room into a warm, inviting space that looked perfectly appropriate for a romantic evening; the first of many. Hopefully.

He checks and rechecks everything at least twice – the plates and silverware are all perfectly aligned, the candles are all equal in height according to candlestick, the wine is set at the most precise temperature he could figure, the highly expensive (if a bit inelegant) roast beef was cooling as fast as possible in the kitchen – everything seemed at its best, but he needed something to do with his hands, or else he'd end up biting his nails, which was a most unbecoming action for a gentleman.

He took to pacing back and forth through the house, straightening the occasional picture frame and ensuring no visible surface had gained any dust after his earlier cleaning over four hours ago. Cleaning or any other dull activity usually allowed his mind to settle, but tonight seemed to be the exception – _what if she had the address? what if she had decided not to come? what if she didn't like roast beef?!_ – and he was about five seconds away from having a mental breakdown and calling the whole thing off entirely when-

there was a quiet _tap-tap-tap _on the door.

He spun toward it immediately only to pause, physically relaxing his body and schooling his features into the definition of calm (which he most certainly was not) before walking (not _slowly_, but not fast enough to seem in a hurry) to the door and pulling it open.

There stands Abigail – hair a bit tussled from the wind, still no make-up, and wearing a modest knee-length green dress – and he thinks she could never look lovelier as she looks up at him tentatively.

"Hello," she says, voice uncharacteristically quiet and more than a bit uncertain.

"Hi," he returns, because _of course _his brain decides to forget any other, more elegant form of greeting he's heard before.

She smiles, and he most certainly is _not _blushing, thank you very much.

He steps aside, holding the door open and gesturing to the inside of his home with one arm.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

She giggles at the corny line, which he catalogs as a victory.

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><p><strong>AN: I really love these two; don't you? XD  
><strong>**~Persephone**


	7. Formal

Formal wear definitely suited him, she thought.

While Henry really did look quite charming in just about any outfit he wore, whether it was his uniform, more casual attire, or even a set of pajamas, there was something about the dark, freshly pressed suit he now wore that made him look… dashing.

Yes, dashing was an apt description, she decided to herself as she put the finishing touches into tying his bow tie. "There," she said, smoothing it out and smiling up at him widely as he straightened his cufflinks, "All done and ready for a night of dancing."

"I could have tied my own tie, you know," Henry responded, smirking at her slightly as she walked to over to her vanity and opened her small jewelry box, rooting through it while rolling her eyes at him in the mirror.

"It's a fair trade; I put on your tie, and you help me put on my necklace," she said plainly, pulling out a simple silver chain with a small blue bobble hanging from it. It was a pretty simple accessory, but it matched her eyes and her dress perfectly, so she thought it appropriate.

She held it up for him to take, which he did after a moment of deliberation. She swallowed quietly as his fingers brushed hers, but didn't let the dreamy expression onto her face.

He stared at her for a moment, eyes assessing her long blue dress – modest and a bit plain, but absolutely stunning on a girl like her – gaze lingering on her face, which slowly lit up with an amused smile.

"Well, come on then!" she giggled, turning around and lifting her hair to allow him ease in putting the necklace on.

Her heartbeat sped up as his arms came around her, hands caressing her shoulders and neck as he wound the chain around her skin to reattach it in the back. Once his fingers disappeared, she reluctantly turned around and smiled mildly.

'_Dashing indeed,_' she thought breathlessly.

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><p><strong>AN: Angst-free romance is the best romance. Part 1 of 2.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	8. Companion

She still didn't know all of the details of Henry's life before he'd met her, but she did know one thing; whenever he decided to be social and went to any sort of party, he'd always been alone except for the occasional friend who decided to tag along. No dates.

Now, as his companion for the evening, she realized just how much of a rare opportunity this was.

Nearly every woman in the banquet hall – whether single or not – glared icily at her from where she was attached by the arm to Henry, who of course was quietly oblivious to the vast amount of female attention he was getting.

She didn't feel intimidated by the stares; on the contrary, she felt a tad bit smug, meeting their darkened eyes with a lifted chin of her own. '_Back off,_' she thought, '_He's __**mine.**_'

Henry, bless him, eventually seemed to sense the animosity and steered her outside after a while of mingling and silent challenging, probably afraid an argument – or worse, a _fight _– would break out if they remained any longer.

"I'm fine," she assured him readily as they trailed through the gardens behind the banquet hall, "Nothing was wrong, I could have handled them."

He rolled his eyes – not in doubt or mockery, but in exasperation. "Perhaps so, but I forgive me if I wanted at least one dance tonight without being gawked at by your admirers."

She blinked at him, stunned beyond words for a moment.

Admirers? _Her?_

"_My _admirers?" she asked faintly for clarification.

She hadn't noticed any of the men staring at her; she'd been too bust warding off the feeble competition.

"Indeed. It seems some of the foolish boys here share my choice in lovely blondes that put every star in the sky to shame," Henry muttered, sounding frustrated and annoyed.

She blushed lightly. He was always doing that – comparing her to stars in the sky – even though she certainly didn't feel like she lived up to his praises.

"Well," she said, "Most of the foolish girls share my choice in tall, dark, handsome men who truly are out of this world."

He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but she just grinned and leaned up to capture his mouth in a kiss.

All of those other boys and girls could look around for another playmate.

Henry was _hers, _after all, and she was _his._

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><p><strong>AN: Part 2 of 2. Did you like?  
>~Persephone<strong>


	9. Move

Staying in one place for too long is never a very good idea for a man who doesn't age.

Before he'd met Abigail and Abe, he'd lived in London for about eleven years, and while most of his friends and acquaintances had been aged dramatically by the years of war they'd faced, he was still conspicuously young looking.

Which meant it was time to go.

Moving was certainly something he had become used to over the centuries, but Abigail had never done anything of the sort. "I grew up in London," she'd said, "Lived here my whole life. Even when the evacuations started, I never left; I always knew there would be people around here who would need me."

She'd had no idea how right she was at the time, but that was beyond the point.

Abe, of course, found moving to be an exciting idea.

"Will there be dragons there?" had been his first question as soon as his father had announced their eventual relocation.

"We shall do our best to find some," he had replied. Abe's eyes had lit up at the prospect, and he hadn't had the heart to tell him of the creature's mythical origins.

Packing was easier said than done; while he had a ready supply of clothing and supplies and notes to take with him at a moment's notice, Abigail and Abraham were not so prepared.

Besides, Abby absolutely refused the idea of leaving anything behind. "Dropping most of our possessions and fleeing across the sea would give everybody reason to question," she explained immediately, lifting her chin the way she usually did when she defied him, "And if they ask too many questions, they might just learn something they weren't meant to learn."

He had to hand it to her, it was sound logic and a good argument, so he agreed to take his time and pack thoroughly, leaving nothing behind but an old pair of boots already gathering dust in the small closet under the stairs.

On the last day, Abby had turned back around at their former home, biting her lip and blinking rapidly. Abe, still young and unknowing, had grinned at it widely, unaware that they were unlikely to return.

He had sadly reached out a hand, taking hers and twining their fingers together. "You alright?" he asked, a bit afraid she'd decide not to go after all.

She turned swiftly, most likely guessing his train of thought by his tone.

"Yes," she said quickly, sniffing and waving a hand at the house briskly. "It's only a building.

"As long as I have my boys," she continued, looping an arm around him and Abe easily and squeezing them to her, "I'll always have a home."

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><p><strong>AN: Hooray for fluff! XD  
>~Persephone<strong>


	10. Silver

He glares balefully at the inadequate amount of money in his hand.

Despite having lived for quite a bit longer than the average human being did not mean he had an endless supply of gold and jewels locked away somewhere at his disposal. He'd been busy purchasing new equipment and top of the line medical text books to see if there was anything he had missed in his own research.

Now, it seemed all of the heavy spending was coming back to bite him. Hard.

His gaze trailed forlornly to the lovely golden band sitting on the front display of the jeweler's shop, just waiting for someone to come and purchase it for their hopefully-soon-to-be-fiancé.

He was at least one hundred dollars short of getting it.

_Damn it._

He checked his pocket watch again, afraid of missing the time. Tonight had already been planned perfectly, down to the last detail; it wouldn't do for him to be late.

He still had time, but he most certainly didn't have the money.

'_This is what you get for waiting to buy the ring until the last second,_' the part of his brain that was not an idiot pointed out oh-so-helpfully.

'_Shut up,_' he replied.

There was no time; if he wanted to make it home in time to get ready, he'd have to buy a ring now.

His eyes slid from the golden ring to a much plainer silver band, with a smaller diamond stuck in place. It was nothing special, just a casual ring that could be given as a present instead of an engagement gift.

It would have to do.

(Of course, it never really mattered what color it was; the moment she saw it, she burst into tears and pulled him into the tightest hug he could ever recall receiving.)

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><p><strong>AN: I promised myself I'd do something about his proposal to her; and I _did. _Enjoy the fluffy cuteness; more coming soon!  
>~Persephone<strong>


	11. Prepared

She is far more prepared, both emotionally and physically, for it to happen a second time.

It's not his fault; he spent an entirely too long of a time in the infectious disease ward, and ended up picking up one strain or another – he hadn't really been able to explain what he was ill with; he'd been too busy throwing up every fourteen seconds. She counted.

Luckily, she had been able to get into his cache of medical supplies and quarantined the room, banishing Abe to his bedroom until everything was over. The boy had looked more than a little frightened at the sound of his father puking everywhere down the hall, but she had given him a reassuring squeeze and reminded him what would happen if things went south. It had helped, at least a little, but he still clutched his favorite stuffed bear to his chest a bit tighter.

So, decked out in Henry's own coat with multiple supplies hidden in the pockets and a mask over her face to reduce the risk of infection, she headed back into the room her husband was currently dying in with a surprisingly calm face.

"One day," she sighed as she cleaned him up a bit, "You can't even go one day without trying to give me a heart attack, can you? It's our anniversary, and you have to go and make it dramatic by dying on me!"

He barely had enough strength to grimace at her apologetically before bending over the bucket next to the bed once again.

She mentally rolled her eyes and slid an arm around him for support, making sure he didn't slip off the bed as he got sick.

This routine continued for well over three hours before Henry finally collapsed, utterly spent and barely able to breath.

She couldn't resist tearing up a little, listening to him struggle for air like a drowning man.

She wished she could give him a quick kiss before he went, but the risk of herself getting infected was far too great for it to be considered.

Finally, after quite a long time, the breath rushed out of his lungs and he went still, stiff and unmoving.

She bit her lip, clenching her fists – she doubts she'll ever get used to the sight of the man she loves dead in front of her – before blinking abruptly.

The body was gone.

He would be waking up soon.

Sighing, she got to her feet. She sterilized the room as best she could – she wasn't an expert on such matters, but she thought she did a pretty good job – changed clothes, and trailed over to Abraham's room.

He was still awake, sitting on his bed with a book open on his lap, though his eyes were already on the door when she entered.

She stood in the doorway for a second, a tinge of sadness going through her – he shouldn't have had to hear all that, but they'd had nowhere else to go; the hospital would have asked too many questions, and someone might have seen him disappear – she'd have to talk to Henry about that sooner or later.

Sighing, she held out a hand for her son to take. "Come on," she said, giving him a small smile. "Let's go get your dad before he freezes into an icicle."

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><p><strong>AN: Abby proving she is just as boss as her husband is at dealing with a crisis. XD**


	12. Knowledge

Living far longer than any normal human being allows you quite a lot of time to collect knowledge from many corners of the globe. He knows the human body practically inside and out by now; he can speak fluently in over 24 languages. He knows how to tie knots professionally like the best sailors; he has learned how to write in a code so unique that literally nobody else on Earth would be able to crack it without a century or two of free time to crack it.

However, his impressive, extensive knowledge over all things medical and scientific unfortunately could not save him at the moment.

He fearlessly met the wide blue eyes staring back at him expectantly, waiting for him to do something clever.

He could hear Abigail failing the stifle her giggles out in the hallway, occasionally peeking back into the room only to begin again as soon as she saw them.

'Them' being her husband and adopted son currently having the staring contest of the century.

Nearly a century of existence had not prepared Henry for parenthood at all, so figuring out what it was Abraham wanted was next to impossible; especially when since he couldn't eloquently explain exactly what he wanted either.

He raised an eyebrow in question at his son, who had climbed up onto his lap ten minutes ago and had refused to budge, despite both of his parents best efforts. "Did you need something, Abe?" he asked slowly, blinking and resisting the urge to groan when the toddler only shifted slightly in his lap.

"I have some research to compile, Abe," he explained quietly, shooting a begging look toward the door, but Abby had disappeared; he could still hear her laughing somewhere down the hall. "Why don't you go play with mum until I'm done?"

Abe simply stared at him, wide blue eyes – so like Abby's, even though he wasn't actually her son – fixed intently on him.

Henry bit his lip a bit. His notes were still in a haphazard mess on the desk he'd been working at; maybe…

"How about you help daddy sort some things out?" he suggested.

Abe's eyes lit up almost immediately. "Da!" he yelped in agreement, latching onto his father's chest in glee.

Henry gave a fond sigh, hugging the child to him with both arms.

"Yes, yes, I know the full list of known diseases is a very exciting thing; trust me, I've read it myself. _Very _interesting. I should read it to you sometime; you'd love hearing about asthma, bronchitis, mumps…"

He might not know much about kids – not even his own kid – but it seemed his kid didn't have normal interests.

He supposed it just ran in the family.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Someone was asking for more toddler!Abe. Thus, more toddler!Abe. Enjoy!  
>~Persephone<strong>


	13. Denial

He's in denial. She knows he is.

They've been married nearly twenty five years now; she knew him even better than she knew herself.

His refusal to treat Abe like anything aside from the toddler he'd raised for so long had been amusing, almost endearing; his complete and utter refusal to accept that times were changing was dangerous to the point of madness.

She'd been keeping quiet – every aching joint and sore back – she'd endured the costs of getting old alone, in silence, for fear of alerting her dear husband to the inevitable _end _they both knew was coming sooner or later.

But there was no way she could hide the silver now peppering her golden hair aside from shaving her head, which simply was not an option, or trying that new hair-coloring product the hairdressers were all advertising now, but until Henry tested the chemicals to see if they were dangerous she didn't dare try anything like that.

She had glared tearfully at her reflection in the mirror for over two hours, hoping to somehow _will _the grey out of her hair, but it wasn't happening as she commanded; if anything, they grey became even _more _noticeable as time went on.

Finally, after scrubbing her cheeks clear of most of the evidence of her distress and balefully glaring at her reflection once more, she exited the restroom slowly, unwilling to face her husband and son with the evidence of her age so obvious for them to see.

She didn't have a chance to scurry back to the bedroom; Henry had been leaning against the wall outside, immediately coming forward as soon as she opened the door.

"Are you alright? You were in there an awfully long time," he said in a rush, scanning her all over in search of anything that might be wrong.

She gave a small, sad smile, but said nothing, waiting for him to see for himself.

After his eyes took in her highly distressed face, he wordlessly wrapped her in his arms. She inhaled sharply, unwilling to start crying now – after all, it wouldn't be her suffering in a few years' time.

They remained like that for a time, until he pulled back and kissed her on the forehead. She reveled in the feeling, smiling a little more widely at the feeling. He really was too wonderful to fully comprehend sometimes.

It wasn't until later that she realized he hadn't mentioned her hair.

In his mind, there was nothing in the world worth living for aside from his wife and son. In his mind, nothing short of hell on earth could ever take either of them away from him.

He was in denial. And so was she.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Beware, the return of the angst! I am sorry for any broken feels.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	14. Wind

A sharp wind nearly tore her hair out of its bun, but she managed to duck inside the school building before the damage was permanent, though she did shiver slightly as a trail of breeze followed her as the door shut completely.

Letting out a sigh of relief at the warmth now surrounding her, she turned from the doors and began to walk briskly down the hallway she'd entered, knowing the way to her destination already. She passed several classrooms, row upon row of lockers, but she was not to be distracted; she was a woman on a mission.

Two turns later, she saw the office doors at the end of this new hall.

Taking a breath and resisting the urge to quicken her pace, she walked calmly up to the nice oak finish and knocked briskly. _Tap-tap-tap._

"Come in," called an older woman's voice.

Needing no other invitation, she opened the door to peer inside, her eyes zeroing in on target: there was dear little Abe, hunched over in a seat and looking a bit green.

She practically sprinted her way across the office to wrap her arms around her adopted son, already cooing soft nothings of reassurance. "It's alright, sweetie; Mummy's here," she said, worriedly stroking his much-too-warm forehead.

She turned her attention only when the woman behind her cleared her throat. The office worker was staring at both mother and child sympathetically. "I'm sorry, miss, but he was just too ill to continue classes today. The nurse said-"

"That he needed to go home," Abigail finished for her, standing up straight immediately, skillfully slipping her ill son into her arms expertly despite the fact that he was a fair bit bigger than she was used to; he'd gotten a growth spurt recently, bless him.

"Are there any forms I need to fill out?" she asked quickly, shifting slightly on her feet when she heard Abe whimper slightly.

"No, ma'am; he's free to go," the worker said easily, nodding.

Abigail didn't stick around; she marched right out the door at record speed, cradling the seven-year-old to her chest as if he were still the newborn she'd found amongst the Jewish refugees all those years ago.

"Don't you worry, dear," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, "Daddy will make you feel right as rain soon enough."

Luckily for both parties, he didn't throw up until they got home.

Unluckily, when he did lose his lunch, it was all over Daddy's shoes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I wanted more Abe and Abby. Thus, some Abe and Abby. Hope you liked!  
>~Persephone<strong>


	15. Order

His life used to be organized, once upon a time.

He used to spend all of his free time away from the hospital in his library studying every piece of medical knowledge known to mankind; recording his own theories and the results of multiple experiments he performed on himself, trying to find a way to end his unending life.

His library had been his refuge, his own private island of peace and order that nobody other than he himself would enter.

Not anymore.

Abigail came in every day after he got home from work, bringing in a cup of tea and a biscuit for him to snack on – so very British; she admitted to missing England quite a bit, despite their happy lives in New York – and would give his left temple a quick peck, sure to not disturb his concentration unless necessary before leaving to read one of her novels.

Every other day, if he grew tired of his toys, Abraham would often toddle into the office and climb onto his father's lap to stare at what he was writing curiously, occasionally trying to help him by pushing a few stacks of papers onto to floor with his tiny hands – which despite being a tad irritating, somehow became more and more amusing each time it happened; it certainly amused Abby plenty – or stealing the biscuit to gnaw on absently – he was still teething at this point, but he'd grown most of his molars by now.

Once, he came home to a flustered Abby hurriedly trying to restack an entire section of his notes, having bumped it on accident while she was dusting. He had reassured her that it wasn't a problem, but she still looked crestfallen, so he made sure to kiss her senseless after he'd cleaned up to ensure she knew he wasn't mad (though after that he started keeping noted compiled into a journal instead of scattered everywhere on precariously stacked bits of paper).

Despite the chaos Abby and Abe had brought into his perfectly ordered world, he honestly couldn't complain; it was far more fun this way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I love family fluff. It makes me all mushy on the inside and makes me squeal like an idiot.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	16. Thanks

**WARNING: Dark themes. Holocaust stuff; not for the faint of heart. Read at own risk.**

* * *

><p>He has no idea who his birth parents are or what they look like. (<em>His eyes were his fathers, a light shade of cerulean that rivaled the sky, while his hair matches the dark brunette of his mother.<em>)

He doesn't recall having any other family. (_He'd had three older siblings; Alice, who managed to get married and move to America before everything went sour and never knew he existed; Lewis, who had been among the first to die because of his preference for men instead of women; and Iris, whom had been dragged off in the middle of the night by a group of four drunken soldiers. She'd never been seen again._)

He can't clearly remember the bitterly cold night a lovely blonde lady had walked past his makeshift box-crib and stopped to pick him up to ensure he didn't freeze.

His oldest memory is of the man whom he now considers his father holding him awkwardly as his future mother smiles widely at him, gently wiping away a bit of drool while trying not to laugh at her lover's obvious discomfort.

He will never know the life he could have had (_his father had owned a very well-liked drug store, and there had been plenty of friendly people in his neighborhood; if he'd grown up where he was supposed to, he would have been just fine, completely oblivious to the pain of an immortal man looking to die_), but he has to admit, he's incredibly thankful everything turned out the way it did.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Not as terrible as it could have been, but I just wanted to make sure no one flipped out. Abe has a really depressing back-story. :'(  
>~Persephone<strong>


	17. Look

She has always looked beautiful no matter what she wears, but standing under a willow tree, swathed in a white dress and grinning over at him wider than he has ever seen, he decides that she has never looked closer to an angel from Heaven in all the time he's known her.

They didn't have the money for a lavish ceremony and they didn't have many friends in New York yet, but they managed to get a decent priest for the ritual and the small gaggle of Abigail's family who had come over from England were cheering loudly enough for a whole stadium full of people.

Abigail's sister Rose is sitting in the front row, happily bouncing little Abraham and allowing him a full view of his soon-to-be-parents wedding, but he's not focused on the toddler for once; his eyes are glued to the lovely vision walking towards him carefully across the grass, bouquet of daisies (her favorite flowers; they matched her hair) in both hands and arm looped through her fathers', staring at him through her veil and grinning so hard her mouth will probably hurt for a few hours.

It doesn't matter that he has no idea what he's doing; it doesn't matter that her father is giving him a suspicious, slightly disapproving glare; it doesn't matter that, at the back of his mind, he knows this can't possibly last.

It doesn't matter, because she looks stunning and she's gazing at him like he is everything she ever wanted in the world, and he has to believe this _will _last, for better or for worse, till death do us part.

And beyond.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally, something for the wedding! XD Hope you liked it!  
>~Persephone<strong>


	18. Summer

Summer has always been her favorite time of the year no matter where she was; now, in New York City with her boys, she decides it couldn't get better.

They're spread out of a blanket in a shaded area of Central Park. Abe seems content gnawing away on a slice of watermelon with all of the seeds meticulously picked out, watching a dragonfly flutter past with great amusement.

Henry is carefully pouring out a couple of glasses of champagne, being sure to keep the sparkling liquid out of Abe's line of sight just in case he turns his head.

Abigail grins, unable to help it; her family is here, all together; no corpses in sight and no talk of figuring out a new way to die. She couldn't really ask for more; after her husband's last 'episode' with the illness, she'd been afraid Abraham would start avoiding him, but it seemed the boy had no problem being near his father, which was a relief.

She is broken out of her musing when Henry offers her the fancy glass, which she takes gratefully, clinking her glass to his before taking a sip of the sparkling liquid. She doesn't particularly like alcohol and hardly drinks, but a warm day like this one definitely calls for a drink like this.

"Momma, what's that?" pipes a little voice, startling her; Abe has decided now is the best time to turn around and stare at them curiously. Henry immediately hides the bottle within the basket, but the damage is already done; the four-year-old is now gazing at the beige liquid in his mother's glass with wide eyes as the bubbles fizz a little.

"This is… champagne, Abe," she explains slowly, looking over at her husband for backup, but he simply shrugs helplessly, and she suppresses a sigh. He still has no idea what he's doing when it comes to family.

"Can I have some?" Abe asks, enthusiastically crawling over to his mother's lap before she can protest.

Caught off guard and floundering for a way to say 'no' and not wound her child, she lifts her eyes pleadingly once again to Henry, who, thankfully, takes the initiative.

"Abe," he says, leaning forward to meet Abe's eyes when he looks at him, "How would you like to help me catch a dragonfly?"

"Wass' a dregoon-fly?" Abe asks, awestruck as he often is when Henry uses words he doesn't recognize.

"A dragonfly is that silly-looking thing," Henry says plainly, pointing at the insect that had once held his sons' attention. "It looks really interesting, huh? How about we catch it?"

"Yes!" Abe agrees instantly, crawling off his mother – thankfully not making her spill her drink – and takes off after the bug, Henry directly behind him; though he did send an apologetic glance Abby's way.

Not that she minds; watching her boys have fun is one of her favorite pastimes. She smirks at her glass of champagne for a moment. "Well, I suppose you're good for _something_ aside from a splitting headache," she acquiesced, taking another sip.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Baby Abe being adorable and Henry being a good daddy by distracting his adorable son. Good times.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	19. Transformations

He thinks it would be easier, maybe, if things would just stay the same for longer than a decade at a time; that humanity's progression could just stop and take a break for a while.

While the advances in medical technology are great, the downside is far greater.

New York is transforming right before his eyes in seemingly no time at all; the buildings are getting taller, have new designs, are made more elaborate; the automobiles, more commonly referred to as 'cars' now, are more popular than ever and are redesigned just about every other day; even the people are changing, not only due to age – which touches all (_other than him_) and dress (so many different fashions nowadays, Abigail loves to try them out for a while), but in ethnicity as well – new groups of immigrants are coming in from Ellis Island every day, leading him to practice his languages more often in case he happens to run into one on the street.

His own family is not left unchanged; aside from Abby's continuing exploration of fashion, Abraham has sprouted up like a weed; once upon a time, he would sit for hours at a time on his adopted father's lap listening to books read in Latin or tales of a hundred years ago, but now, seemingly a blink of an eye later he's too busy chasing after lovely girls or goofing off with his ridiculous friends to be listening to stories.

However, out of all the changes, one thing remains the same; Abigail still smiles at him dreamily every morning when she first wakes up; still kisses him on the cheek when he leaves for work; always welcomes him home with a tight hug and a far more passionate kiss on the lips.

She's always there for him no matter how the world might change (and if she has a few graying strands of hair on her head, what does that matter?).

And he thinks, maybe, as long as that stays the same, and he has his family by his side, he can handle any changes the world has to offer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh Henry, you won't be thinking that way for long. :'(  
>~Persephone<strong>


	20. Tremble

**WARNING: Angst like whoa.**

* * *

><p>It's been a while since her hair started turning gray; Henry still hasn't said a word on the matter, though she'd caught Abe glancing between the two of them more than once, probably finally beginning to grasp the weight of his father's burden.<p>

She avoids going out in public with her family now; it's bad enough the new neighbors think her husband is some sort of sleaze that married an older woman for some grand inheritance despite their rugged conditions.

They've moved all the way across Brooklyn to avoid the questions, but there's no way to hide the fact that Dr. Morgan is married to a woman who appears well beyond him in years, that his son is now approaching his twenties while he still appears to be in the middle of his thirties.

Her face seems to gain a wrinkle every other day, and there's only a hint of gold left in her hair. Her joints ache every morning and arthritis is becoming a nuisance every now and again.

But they're making do.

They live as they always have; she still gets up every morning to cook for her husband and son, gives Henry a kiss on the lips and Abe a quick peck on the head before they both head out to work, still cleans the house until it's spotless (lately she's been hearing a lot of negative talk about housewives and how women should aspire to be more, but she is content with her lot in life; it's not like she has the energy for anything else).

But after her chores are done and her boys still aren't home, she'll sit in the parlor or the dining room, staring at her reflection in the mirror or the silverware and thinking.

She was still lovely, she supposed. Henry had made it clear early on in their relationship that he did not give a damn what she looked like, but she still bit her lip lightly, unable to keep depressing thoughts at bay.

What if he no longer felt the same way, no matter his words? What if he fell for some younger, prettier woman? She's heard of that happening more than once, and she fears it's becoming a trend nowadays, the husband leaving the old family for some younger woman.

She'll stare at her withered features, her darkening age spots and whitening hair and trembling limbs, and think to herself that she really wouldn't blame him if he did leave.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: We're getting near the end, ladies and gents. I hope you enjoy angst, because that's what most of this is going to be from now on.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	21. Sunset

Sunsets were definitely one of the few things he has always loved about the world around him.

The last dying rays of the sun mixing with the lovely deep purples and rich golden-orange of the sky on the horizon all coalesced into the greatest light show anyone could ask for, and it happened every day, at the same time, no matter how much time passed.

It was one of the few things that had remained the same since the beginning. And he loved it because of that.

Sitting in his library with his chair turned away from his work for once was a rare occurrence, but he was feeling a little more nostalgic than usual and wanted to watch the beautiful display of nature, and so he turned toward the window and sat back, lips turned upward in a slight smile.

The quiet, serene mood was broken slightly by the sound of the door opening.

He smiled a little more and turned his chair, expecting to see Abe with another one of his dates, wanting to introduce the lovely girl to his 'roommate'. But instead, he got his far lovelier wife instead; a little older, a little wearier, but no less beautiful than the day he'd first seen her.

"Hey," he said, allowing himself to grin widely at her.

She returned the smile, if somewhat stiffly. That was odd; Abigail was usually all smiles at all hours of the day, even when she was completely unconscious.

He furrowed his brows slightly in concern, sitting forward to catch her eye. "Something the matter?" he asked slowly, trying to recall if anything had come up that could be the cause of her seemingly somber mood.

"Henry," she sighed, sounding tired and fondly exasperated all at once, shuffled forward around his desk until she was in front of him, directly in front of the window, allowing the dying sun's light to catch her hair into a golden fire as it once had been when she'd been much younger.

And with a sharp breath and a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized just how different his wife seemed from the bubbling young woman who had come to him with a small baby in her arms, afraid that the child had been injured.

She was smiling at him sadly, as if she'd guessed what it was he was thinking about.

"We need to talk."

The golden sheen faded from her hair as the sunlight faded into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Part 1 of 3. Be prepared for angst like WHOA in the last few chapters.  
>~Persephone<strong>**


	22. Mad

He's feared for his sanity before – being tortured to the brink on consciousness more than once can make a person wonder from time to time – even considered checking himself into a psychiatric hospital – it wouldn't work; he'd simply outlive all the caretakers – but never has he feared himself going mad as much as he did now.

"Abigail, please," he begs, voice raw and more than a little choked up. He doesn't want to have this conversation – has been avoiding it both actively and subconsciously for years – and now that it's here he's not sure what to do with himself.

Abby is sitting on the desk in front of him, biting her lip and staring hard at the floor, eyes stubbornly blinking back tears as she repeated, "I know you don't want to talk about this, but it's time we did something; Henry, I'm not getting any younger. You know that, I know that, the world knows that; I'm getting old."

"Of course, but that doesn't matter!" he interrupted quickly, taking her hands in his and gripping them tightly, desperately trying to catch her eye. "I don't care how old or young you are, Abigail! I love you for who you are!"

"I know that!" she snapped suddenly, crystal blue fastening on his and startlingly him slightly. "I know you love me, and that's the problem!"

Her calm façade was cracking apart. She pulled her hands away from his and leaned forward, glaring at him even as tears seeped down her wrinkled cheeks. "I _know_ you, Henry! I know you love me more than life itself! I know you care about me, and Abe, and our little lives here in New York, but the reality is, _we_ are not immortal! _You_ are! And if you stick around any longer-" her voice cracked, but she kept going "-if you don't leave while you have the chance, you're never going to be able to move on!"

It was with a chill of sudden realization that he realized he wasn't the only one being driven mad by the situation; and he kind of hated himself a little more when he realized there was little he could to change that.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Part 2 of 3. Worry not; the conversation shall be resolved tomorrow!  
>~Persephone<strong>


	23. Thousand

He tries to take her hands in his; she allows this, though she looks ready to bolt at any second, tears still trailing from her eyes, which they both dutifully ignore.

He's sure she can see the terrible pain in his eyes, the sadness that no mortal could really understand – _she understood, far better than any other person he had met before _– and his grip tightens just the slightest bit.

"I'm not leaving."

There.

Straight and to the point, no beating around the bush. He won't run away from this anymore.

She jerks a bit, mouth already opening in protest, but – _despite what society thinks, despite what pain it might cause them in the future_ – he covers her mouth with his, halting her speech with little effort.

He pulls back just as quickly, making sure to catch her eye before she could catch her breath. "There is nothing on this earth that could make me leave you, and Abe, and your little lives in New York. It doesn't matter what the rest of the world says; the world can the hell up for all I care. You are the light of my life, Abby. It doesn't matter how long I live; I'll love you for a thousand years, two thousand, _one hundred thousand. _Even if I finally find a way to unlock this curse, my last thoughts will be of you, and _only _you. I swear."

She's crying in earnest now, not even trying to halt her sobs, and he moves forward to catch her when she falls forward into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and holding him in a grip that was surprisingly strong for her age.

"You're a damned fool!" she gasps out, completely overwhelmed, "Someone else will come along! You can't remain alone forever!"

"Perhaps," he admitted, closing his eyes and smiling brokenly, "But my first and last thoughts will always be of you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Part 3 of 3. This pairing is killing all of my feels. :'(  
>~Persephone<strong>


	24. Outside

Life continues as usual.

And yet it doesn't.

She still gets up every morning to make the breakfast; she still presses kisses onto both husband and son; she still cleans the house after they leave. But now she takes her time. After the oh-so-dramatic conversation with her husband, she allows herself to move at a far less taxing pace, allows her joints' aches and pains to be felt, allows herself to relax and move about how she pleased.

Sometimes, if Abraham gets home early enough, he'll aid her with the more difficult chores, such as rehanging the curtains after a wash or dusting the higher-up shelves on the bookcases of the library.

He never says a word of complaint, never rolls his eyes, and does everything without question; it kind of reminds her of when she and Henry were teaching him to tie his shoes, which brings up more than a few amusing memories that make her smile more often, which he seems to find an extreme accomplishment.

Henry quickly insists on doing dinner as soon as he's home, which is startling because she and Abe were just about to start making it, but he quickly sweeps them out of the kitchen and creates a piece of culinary finery that neither of them could hope to make.

She still doesn't go outside often – she drew too much attention to their tiny family – but when she managed to find a prime opportunity, both of her boys offered to skip work for an hour or two so they could have a quick family outing for lunch.

It still wasn't ideal – she and Abe were too old to conceivably be Henry's wife and son – but they made it work as best they could.

Henry wasn't going to give up on this family so easily. And neither would she.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Blah. My feels hurt because I know how this ends and I don't want it to. DX  
>~Persephone<strong>


	25. Winter

It all starts going downhill the winter of that year.

He is conducting research on some extensive notes a doctor in Europe had sent him in November when he first hears the rough sound of coughing. Usually, he would have ignored it and went on with his business, but it definitely sounds harsher than usual, and after it goes on for about thirty seconds he jumps to his feet, heading out into the hall.

Abby is hunched over her sewing needles, hand over her mouth and trying desperately to catch her breath. He walks over to her quickly, carefully moving the pointy bits of silver before rubbing his wife's back.

The fit passes, and she wheezes gratefully. "That sounded painful. Are you feeling alright?" he asked, a tad concerned.

"Now that it's over, yes," she sighs, leaning back gratefully into his embrace, face flushed.

He frowns, moving one hand up to carefully touch her forehead. "You're a bit warm. I think it's time you went to bed."

"Honestly Henry, I feel fi-" she cut off by another cough, this one just as rough as the first few.

He gives her '_don't-fight-me-the-doctor-is-in_' look – he used to use that all the time when Abe was little – and helps her to her feet. "Now, now; doctor's orders. Bed rest. Upstairs. Come on," he states crisply, fully prepared to drag her there if need be.

She rolls her eyes, but relents, allowing him to follow her up the stairs (she took a deep breath at the top, looking a bit flustered) and ensure she made it into bed, tucking her in like an infant. "I can actually do this myself you know," she mutters as he heads into their bathroom to fetch all necessary cold treatment necessities.

"Oh I know, but I'm the doctor of this house; what would people say if I did not do my utmost to make you comfortable?" he questions easily, trailing back into the room with thermometer, cool cloth and cough medicine in hand.

She knows better than to argue at this point, and gracefully puts up with all of his poking a prodding. Temperature? 101 degrees, which is a bit bothersome but nothing they can't deal with. Does she feel pain anywhere? A slight twinge her chest during the coughing, but it's gone now. Can she breathe alright? Yes.

He pours out some cough syrup, which she pouts at like a child and swallows with a grimace, and places the cool rag on her head after she lies down. "Get some rest," he says easily, giving her a quick kiss. "Trust me, you'll feel loads better."

If only that were true.

All of the symptoms were there, right in front of him.

If only he had the courage to see it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I really**** hate myself right now. D':  
>~Persephone<strong>


	26. Diamond

She likes to stare at the ring on her finger when she thinks.

It's still the same silver band he had offered to her sheepishly some sixty years ago, with a tiny diamond set into the middle that glittered fitfully in the half-gloom of the bedroom.

The curtains are drawn over the windows, but light still manages to filter through somehow.

She can't leave the room without assistance – if she even tries to get up alone she'll get light-headed and end up on the floor – but that suited her just fine. She doesn't have the energy to be frustrated that she can't do anything by herself anymore; all of her strength is spent battling this invisible enemy inside, the virus that is slowly trying to kill her.

Pneumonia. She doesn't even know how she got it. She's sure Henry has a theory, but she's never awake enough to ask him when he examines her.

She tries to make herself look at least a bit better whenever he comes in, looking haggard and pale, to ensure she is comfortable and to give her the medicine he'd been able to smuggle from work.

Hospital is out of the question – even if they weren't curious about their marital status, they probably wouldn't allow Henry to treat her because of his emotional attachment to her.

They can only make do with what they have.

From what she understands, Abe has taken it upon himself to handle the day to day chores as she lies in bed, sick as a dog, while Henry desperately worked to keep her alive and find a cure. Henry hasn't slept in weeks, tirelessly checking her fever every hour and researching the best ways to deal with pneumonia.

She tries to tell him to calm down, take it easy, but he brushes off her concern with the ease of one who is in denial.

But for once, she isn't in denial. She can clearly see how this story ends.

Henry can't see it. Abe won't want to.

So she lays in the dark, staring at her diamond ring, wondering what exactly it is she should do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ANGST. I'm sorry.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	27. Letters

Finding them was an accident.

Dad had been stressing for five days straight, caring for Mum hand and foot with every ounce of energy he had; he wasn't allowed into the room. If he _and _Mum got sick, there was no telling what Dad would do.

So, while his immortal father did his best to save the life of his old, very mortal, very sick mother, he decided to do what any son would do; try to help out as much as he could.

And since he couldn't enter the bedroom without risking infection, that left cleaning out his father's office.

He made sure not to even touch the research notes – whether on immortality or on influenza, he didn't dare mess them up – and began to simply put books back in their place, mostly novels father would read in his rare free time and books of poems mother enjoyed.

He'd been putting one of mother's favorite back when he noticed something stuck into the back of the bookcase, behind all the other tomes.

Curiosity killed the cat; he dug it out – it was a thin metal box – and opened it.

Inside, instead of some secret tale of the secret to unending life, as he'd half expected, were letters.

A vast majority of them were all in his mother's flowing script, but more than a few bore the familiar chicken scratch he associated with his father.

He'd quickly slid the papers back into the case and hid it away again, but in the process he'd seen a few of the lines from a letter or two.

_We can make this work. Nothing lasts forever, Henry. Not even you._

_**I'd fight a thousand battles if it meant meeting you again in the After.**_

He'd put them back and, biting his lip, closed the library door behind him to sneak back to his room.

He didn't want his mother to die, but he knew there was no stopping nature sometimes.

He didn't want his father to die, either. He just hoped his father would want to stay afterwards.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: More Abe POV because he is good for the soul, if not for the heart.  
>~Persephone<strong>


	28. Promise

"I want you to do something for me."

He took her hand, small and fragile as it was, lacing his fingers through hers, meeting her dulled crystal eyes with his own subdued brown.

Grey hair, wrinkles, age spots, even the shadow of illness; nothing could really make her any less beautiful than she was the day he'd first met her.

"Do what, exactly?" he asked quietly, resisting the urge to tighten his grip.

Turns out he didn't need to; she did it herself, fingers curling around his much larger hand just as tight as she used to, eyes regaining a bit of their old spark. "I want you to promise me," she rasped, voice a bit dry, "That when I'm gone, you'll find someone."

He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing up involuntarily. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and managed to say, "I don't need anyone else. Just you and Abe."

"Well, it's fairly obvious I won't be around for much longer. And Abe is quite durable, but there's no guarantee how long he'll last either," she said calmly, tone detached; she'd been thinking about this for some time, apparently.

"Abby-" he began, voice on the edge of cracking, but she interrupted, reaching up to grab his shirt and began to weakly shake him.

"You have to promise me!" she wheezed, voice far less calm now, "Promise me you'll find someone! Promise me you won't be alone!"

There are tears in her eyes, but he'd the one that starts crying, tears running down his wrinkle-less cheeks. "I can't promise that, Abby! I can't simply move on from this life we've shared!" he gasped, doing his best to suppress the terrible sobs threatening to erupt from his chest.

"You don't need to forget me! You don't even need to do it right away. Wait for a decade or two; perhaps a century, even! But promise me you'll find someone eventually. We all move on at some point, and you'll need to. For me," she ordered, having composed herself as much as possible.

He stared at her helplessly; his wife, a beautiful, selfless woman who deserved the large family she'd always talked about and a husband who could actually spend his life with her instead of only a fraction of infinity.

And here she was, on her death bed, trying to make sure he wouldn't be alone after she was… gone.

He bowed his head, hopelessly grabbing hold of her in as tight a hug as he dared and burying his face into her chest, shoulders shaking.

"I promise… to try…" he eventually managed to choke out.

He didn't see her relieved smile as she wrapped her arms around him.

It would be hours before either of them moved.

One spent the whole time sobbing.

The other simply smiled sadly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ... not much I can say here. Review?  
>~Persephone<strong>


	29. Simple

Saying good-bye is no simple matter, especially when half of her just wants to spend her remaining time with Henry, but she can't do that.

She needs to say good-bye to the baby she'd picked up from a box on a cold spring night, left with no parents or family because of a horrific war.

She needs to say good-bye to her son.

He's wearing a surgical mask over his face – on Henry's insistence, to be sure – but she doesn't need to see anything other than his eyes to tell he's been crying.

"Hello," she says, smiling weakly at him.

She can't see his mouth, but she's sure he's attempting to smile back. "Hi," he replied quietly, voice definitely choked.

She can feel the tears coming. After years working together to keep their ridiculous immortal husband/father high and dry, the idea of permanent death had sort of slipped their minds. It seemed he had been trying to accept it on his own.

"Oh, get over here!" she orders, coughing quickly into her fist before opening her arms wide.

He needs no other prompting; he surges forward, barely avoiding crushing her as he wrapped his arms tightly around her frail body, a keening noise coming from somewhere low in his throat.

She swallows her own tears and sighs, "Now, now, don't be like that, dear. It'll be alright."

"No it won't!" he protested vehemently. "I thought I could do it; I thought I could keep this up without you! But father is falling apart and you can't come back _it's not __**fair-!**_"

"_Hey_," she interrupts, pushing him back with her failing strength; he obliges, if reluctantly. "None of that! You're stronger than that; you can do whatever it is you want to do without me!"

"But I don't want to!" he gasped, swiping roughly at his cheeks as the tears rolled down.

She smiles sadly. "Your father's condition has spoiled you. Abe, we don't always get what we want. No matter how much we might pray for it, it doesn't always work out. I'm sorry."

His breathing hitched. "I know that." He shook his head and lifted a hand to his face. "I _know _that, but _still-_"

"I know dear," she sighed, enveloping him in a hug once more. "I know."

And if they could both hear the badly hushed crying in the hall, neither of them mentioned it.

* * *

><p><strong>~Persephone<strong>


	30. Future

The funeral was short, the eulogy spoken and the casket buried far too quickly.

He and Abe were the only ones there; Abby's family had all long since died or fallen off their social radar.

The priest, thankfully, didn't bother with questions or meaningless comforting words about a 'better place'; he nodded to them respectfully and took his leave, along with the men who shoveled the dirt onto the coffin.

Henry barely noticed any of it.

He stared at the patch of freshly patted down earth, the headstone bearing the love of his life's name making this even more surreal. Abe kept blowing his nose off to the side, though there were no more tears to shed; the two of them had done plenty of crying last night.

He couldn't bring himself to cry anymore; despite the weeks of immense stress and fear and heartbreak he'd experienced just thinking about this moment, he didn't feel any of it now. He just felt empty.

He took a deep breath through his nose – smelled the crisp scent of earth and leaves with the tint of smog that seemed to be everywhere these days – and looked at the setting sun.

He hadn't realized they'd been here for so long; it'd been five hours, at least.

"_Look to the future_," Abby had once said, way back on their wedding night. "_Not the past._"

The future.

The future was a very hard thing to look at without her beside him.

But he still had a promise to keep.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the fading sunlight. "Come on, Abe," he said hoarsely.

"Let's go home."


End file.
